


The Lanternfly Effect

by cumulativeChaos



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crack, M/M, OOC Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Pre-Relationship, This Is STUPID, set during season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26331895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumulativeChaos/pseuds/cumulativeChaos
Summary: Martin’s lost his mind.Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, is swearing.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 22
Kudos: 155





	The Lanternfly Effect

**Author's Note:**

> for those of you who don't know: the lanternfly is an invasive species that popped up in pennsylvania in the past few years. it has no predators in this region and is extremely harmful to the trees. bc it's an unchecked threat to the local environment scientists and experts recommended that everyone kill any lanternflies they see, which is a lot. a fun sight i've grown accustomed to: grown ass adults running around stomping at the ground in public locations.
> 
> i see a lanternfly it's ON SIGHT. i see a lanternfly i go APESHIT
> 
> anyway i just thought it'd be funny if jon did the same thing with the s1 worms

Martin’s lost his mind.

In his ten years working at the Magnus Institute, Martin’s encountered many unexplainable things. Books that cause horrible things to happen to the people who read them. Artifacts that cause horrible things to happen to the people who touch them. A woman whose body consists almost entirely of worms. Said woman lurking outside his flat for two weeks. He’s seen things that defied nature, logic, and reason. He’s seen nightmare fuel horrible enough to cause him lasting psychological trauma.

None of these things have made Martin question his sanity.

Until now.

Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute, swearing. The stream of profanities flying loudly from his mouth is colorful enough to send Martin’s mother to an early grave. And it’s not just the swearing; Jon is also running around like a madman, head turned towards the ground and feet stomping erratically. He seems to be completely oblivious of the world around him, even when that world stares at him in confusion on their way into the Institute. He’s in the _middle of the sidewalk,_ for heaven’s sake, and he’s cursing like a sailor and running in circles.

“Piece of shit _bug,”_ Jon hisses, voice dripping with malice. “Goddamn fucking _shithead_ worm I’ll fucking _kill you_ you son of a bitch–”

Finally, it gets to be too much for Martin. He has to interact with this strange apparition. He clears his throat, loudly, but Jon pays him no mind.

“Jon,” Martin says. When Jon still doesn’t look up, Martin tries again. “Jon!”

Jon glances up for a moment. “Ah, hello, Martin,” he says, as if it’s a normal morning and what little remains of Martin’s life isn’t falling apart before him. Then Jon goes right back to stomping on the ground and swearing.

 _“Jon,”_ Martin tries again. This time, when Jon looks up, Martin doesn’t give him time to say anything. “I think the worm is dead.”

Jon looks down at his feet, where a silvery stain is slowly spreading across the sidewalk. “You can never be too sure,” Jon says. He doesn’t sound even remotely embarrassed.

“Right,” Martin says. “Well, you’ve been stomping on it for a few minutes now, I think you can leave it alone.”

“Hm,” is all Jon says. He stares at the stain for a few moments more, as if daring the worm to reconstruct itself, then nods and heads into the building.

Martin lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He glances down at the worm stain. Part of him, the part that lets spiders loose outside instead of killing them, feels bad for the worm. The memory of those two weeks trapped in his flat reconsiders that pity.

* * *

The next time it happens, Martin isn’t there. He sees it, though, on the small screen of Tim’s cell phone. The camera is shaky with Tim’s laughter.

“ _Fuck! Off!_ _You_ _stupid! Shitty! Bug!”_

“This is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen,” Sasha says, peering over Tim’s shoulder.

“Right?” Tim says. “He goes on for ten minutes.”

“Guys, come on, we should get back to work,” Martin says, but he’s still peering, wide-eyed, over Tim’s other shoulder. He makes no move to follow his own suggestion. There’s something captivating about watching Jon go apeshit on a couple of tiny, seemingly harmless worms. (Martin knows they’re not harmless, though. Doesn’t stop the video from being utterly hilarious and completely earth-shattering.)

“What are you watching?” says a familiar stern voice, and Martin yelps, leaping away from Tim’s desk with a red face. Sasha hops away as well, but with far less panic then Martin. Tim, on the other hand, swipes a few times on his camera roll and turns to face Jon with an easy grin.

“A video of my mum’s cat,” Tim says. “Do you want to see?”

It’s so brief Martin almost misses it, but for a moment he could swear Jon considers it. “Later, perhaps,” he says. “Get back to work, everyone.”

* * *

The third time it happens, Martin _is_ there. In fact, Martin is the catalyst.

It’s the early morning, far too early for people to be arriving at the Institute, and Martin is taking a walk. It’s rare he gets to see the outside world, these days. The inside of the Archive is all he ever looks at. It’s a risk, stepping out, but one Martin is willing to make for the sake of what little remains of his own sanity.

It’s on his return back that he’s attacked.

Later, when he breathlessly tells the story to Tim and Sasha, there will be dozens of worms. Dozens of worms, and all of them were suddenly surrounding him, cornering him. In his retelling, they all pounce at once, only to be effortlessly brushed away by his savior, Jonathan Sims.

The truth is that it’s one worm. It does jump at him, though, scaring the living daylights out of him and causing him to shriek loudly, alerting a certain workaholic archivist who is coming in to work at an ungodly hour of the morning. Said workaholic archivist does come running to Martin’s rescue. And said workaholic does deal with the worm in the way Martin is becoming familiar with.

 _“Die_ you fucking _asshole!”_ Jon exclaims, stomping firmly on the worm. Its silvery guts gush across the pavement, and Jon stomps on those bits, too. “Threatening _my_ assistants? I’ll fucking _eviscerate_ you and burn you to _ash!_ Tell Jane Prentiss to meet me behind the Institute for a one on one _deathmatch,_ I’ll fucking _murder_ her!”

So, like, the same kind of stuff, really.

Martin can’t get over the bit about “threatening _my_ assistants,” though. Before, he thought Jon’s colorful language was simply due to his unending hatred for the silvery creatures, but it seems as though some of it has to do with _protectiveness._

“Martin,” Jon says, snapping Martin out of his thoughts. “Martin, are you alright? Were there any others? Did it get you?”

“I-no, no, I’m fine,” Martin says. “It was just the one, and, er…” Martin glances at the smear on the ground. “I think you took care of it.”

Jon breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” he says. “I don’t know what I would have done if–”

Jon cuts off, ears turning red. He clears this throat and turns away. “Anyway,” he says. “Shall we head inside?”

Martin can’t help the giddy smile that spreads across his face. “Lead the way, Jon.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! check out my other fics if u want they're ok i guess


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